The Fire and Ice Games
by Autumne255
Summary: Alette Grayson and Spiradon Meralda, fire and ice, two tributes from very different Districts, fight for their lives and the lives of their friends in the 37th Hunger Games. Enjoy! Rated T for violence and language. Collab effort with Ally Larka
1. Chapter 1

Hello, and welcome to my VERY FIRST fanfic! This is a collab work between myself and Ally Larka. Bwahahaha, I posted it first! Put that in your juice box and SUCK IT! Sorry, spaz attack. Anywho, Ally found all the info and designed all the Tributes except for Alette and Hesp. All parts in Spiro's POV are written by Ally. Everything from Alette's POV, I wrote. Neither of us own the Hunger Games, nor do we own these characters (although we created them, we have no official ownership, however, if you try to claim them as your own, I will maul your face with a plastic spork). Hope you enjoy! 3 u all!

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The Hunger Games 2.0  
Info:  
District 1: Luxury Goods for the Capitol  
District 2: Mining Gems (also unofficially provided Peacekeepers)  
District 3: Electronics/Technology  
District 4: Fishing  
District 5: Never really specified, but pointed to DNA Splicing  
District 6: Scientific Research  
District 7: Lumber and paper products  
District 8: Textiles (Peacekeeper Uniforms)  
District 9: Food Processing  
District 10: Livestock  
District 11: Agriculture  
District 12: Coal mining  
District 13: (now terminated) Graphite Mining. Secretly working on nuclear power.

So I found online exactly what each different district does. :) Thought it'd make life easier.  
Characters  
Alette Greyson-  
Age-17

Character description- small, dainty frame. graceful. small, heart-shaped face. delicate, childlike features. wide, ice-blue eyes. soft, full lips. soft, bright amber colored hair, falling around her face in long, loose, smooth-as-silk curls. low, soft, intelligent voice. There is a cold, deadly look to her, however, in the intense focus in her eyes, and in the set of her jaw, and her mischievous half-smile. has a vengeful and dangerous streak a mile wide hiding just beneath her pretty, childlike exterior. The citizens of the Capitol see her as an angel of sorts; innocent, beautiful, and very out of place in the Games and among the other tributes.

District- 3

Reason to fight: survival. her two younger siblings. to make it back home for Keegan, because he didn't (also, misdirected vengeance for his death),

Special abilities- cartography (map-making), building useful items out of almost anything, traps, speed in movement, fast learner, not afraid to kill

Allys 6 Girl Characters:

Duska Feelix (District 12)

Age: 16

Appearance: Duska (Dusky) has the typical Seam-look about her, except for her long, pale brown hair. It is almost wavy and goes to just below her shoulder blades. She has the typical tan skin, gray eyes, and coal-y look about her. She has a few freckles on the tip of her nose and a pretty, angular face underneath the coal dust.

Personality: Duska appears quiet and reserved on the outside, especially as she was raised the daughter of the Governor of District 12. She doesn't have much experience with anything except being quiet, but her instincts are strong in guiding her out of the way of danger.

Special Talents: Oddly good with throw knives considering her upbringing, very good at being stealthy, hiding, and stealing, can walk almost completely silently.

Reasons To Fight: Her baby brother, Elian; her best friends, Flurin, Oriole, and Poppy; her boyfriend, Stil.

Tala Meralda "Tarlie" (District 11)

Age: 13

Appearance: Very short, flaming orange hair. Tarlie has choppy hair and a very small frame. Tarlie is very slight and has a youthful, round face with small, almond-shaped hazel eyes.

Personality: Tarlie has a very hot temper and is easily agitated. She is very smart and resourceful and sometimes feels that being with other kids in the games/having allies drags her down. She does not trust easily and is fairly antisocial, except for with Spiradon. She has a determination and passion to win the games that scares even the Careers, and though she does not have many friends, the ones she does have she can't let go of and can't bring herself to kill.

Special Talents: Very resourceful, fast, strong hand-to-hand fighter.

Reasons to Fight: Wants to win the attention of the only boy she's ever liked, Callum; survival instinct.

Calandra Dessper "Cal" (District 6)

Age: 18

Appearance: Cal has a tall and willowy figure and a very angelic face. She has dark blonde, very curly hair and big, dark green eyes that contrast her ivory white skin.

Personality: Cal is very quiet, but not very shy. She has a tendency to be blunt in conversation, and says things like they are.

Special Talents: Good intuition, expert at making her own weapons (the Cornucopia doesn't even phase her because she knows she's fine without the supplies).

Reasons to Fight: She has no family other than her 5-year-old little sister (mom died after childbirth), and Faina would die without Cal.

"Banshee" Vilisca Mortimer (District 7)

Age: Turns 16 during the games

Appearance: Looks shockingly like the phantom she is named after. She is beautiful in a fragile yet dangerous way. She's average height, but looks too skinny for her height. Behind her paper-white skin and fragile exterior is an unexpected strength and skill for survival. She has stringy black hair that falls as long as Duska's. The only part of Banshee that is bright are her startlingly bright turquoise-blue eyes.

Personality: Banshee has a very mysterious personality. Having grown up without a family or really any very close friends, she is awkward in large groups. She seems so much like the ghost she was named after, some people worry she _is_ the banshee of legends. Banshee isn't antisocial, per se, just doesn't talk.

Special Talents: Can move silently, good at making shelter, expert in all terrain, all her hunting skills picked up in district 7.

Reasons To Fight: Really unknown to everybody, to be honest. She's very secretive. Maybe she just doesn't have a reason to fight, maybe she does... we'll never know with Banshee!

Astraia Dovev "Raia" (District 8)

Age: 17

Libitina Misch "Libby" (District 1)

Age: 15

Basically, all whorish qualities you can think of apply to this girl. Way to be, Libitina, way to be!

Ally's 6 Boy Characters:

Spiridon Meralda "Spiro" (District 9)

Age: 16

Appearance: Spiro has short, typically messy dark brown hair. He has an untameable cowlick on the back of his head. He has dark violet/blue eyes. He's tan-ish and skinny but strong. His eyes are wide and round and he had high/prominent cheekbones and a cute smile.

Personality: Spiro is an optimist and a pacifist, putting him in a very bad position for the games. He has made it through lots and is very resilient, which is a plus. He is very social and is very much a defender of the people. However, he does have his dark moments, when he just needs someone around to balance him out.

Special Talents: Has good aim when throwing/shooting things, knows how to make explosives with very little available to him, very fast runner, street-smart, knows how to deal with people and gauge human reactions.

Reasons to Fight: A personal rebellious streak, his 'Rebel Boys' at home who cause trouble for the higher-ups and Peacekeepers in District 9, and his friends/allies in the.

Fang Delson (District 2)

Age: 12

Hesperos Mitrias "Hesp" (District 3)

Tall, skinny and pale, with dark, messy hair and monkey ears. Clumsy and optimistic, but also very wise and clever. Says very intelligent things often times. Very protective of his friends (especially Alette).

Age: 17

Dyami Weller (District 10)

Age: 15

Zeph Essly (District 5)

Age: 14

Whittaker Brandt (District 4) "Whit"

Age: 14

Gavon Roewes (District 7)

Age: 18

Big, powerful. Twisted mind. Likes to cut up and torture his victims and then just leave them to die. Acts like a career.

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Yay! So there ya go, all teh Tributes! More coming...NOW!

(BTW anybody who can catch all of the Merlin/Fablehaven/(maybe)Doctor Who references gets a virtual cookie!)

Please R&R!

Bless your FACE!


	2. Spiro POV Part 1

_Spiro POV (back at home before he's reaped)_

Their lives revolve around the Factory. Not mine. Not yet, anyway.

"Hiram! Go!" I toss my SmokeBomb to Hiram and he sneaks around back.

I'll do anything, _anything_, to avoid the death sentence that is The Factory. My mother died in a machinery accident when I was ten.

_I saw her body, but it wasn't her body. It was a mangled, bloodied piece of meat, like almost anything else we ship out of the Factory._

_Papa was crying. I was holding his hand and I didn't know what to do. When I started crying, Papa let go of me. Right when I most needed him, he left me. _

_I shivered at the sight of her. That wasn't my mom. It couldn't be. She'd walk out with her bouncing brown curls tonight, same as ever, talking about the tragic accident that befell one of her co-workers. _

"_Mom?" I wanted any kind of confirmation that she was alive. Instead, I saw a minced body missing anything resembling a hand or an arm all the way up to her right elbow. _

_And then I saw her eyes._

_My eyes._

_It was Mom._

I shake off the memory and watch crafty Hiram tiptoe around. A gleeful grin crosses my face, I can feel it.

Hiram crosses the field towards me, the same grin mimicked on his face.

_Flash! Boom!_ Smoke pours from the orifices of the building. Muted screams of surprise echo in my ears. Hiram and I are off before the Peacekeepers know what hit them.

The smoke bomb I've invented doesn't really do any harm, but the smoke is near-impossible to navigate through and once that clears, it leaves a stink like no other. Not nearly as advanced as some other fireworks I've seen, but those are supposed to be illegal except in the Capitol on holidays only the Capitol celebrates.

That doesn't stop my Boys, though it stops me.

"_You think this is funny?" The peacekeeper screamed. I was eleven. Marlon was thirteen. But he's a fighter. Instead of responding, my big brother wads up a glob of spit in his mouth and spits right on the shoes of the peacekeeper. _

"_Marlon..." I want to stop him. I know he thinks he's fighting for me, but he's fighting for nothing. It's futile. _

"_You think this is a joke?" The peacekeeper grabs my brother's face. _

"_You're a joke." Marlon replies fiercely. "This whole thing is a joke! The Capitol and the Districts and the Factory and the Hunger Games are just one huge, gigantic joke!" _

_Marlon's nose breaks. He can't defend himself. His hands are tied behind his back._

"_Administer the punishment." The peacekeeper says coldly. _

"_Marlon!" I scream as the whip is lashed down on his back. Marlon doesn't cry out, but I see the grimace on his face, his steely eyes staring forward._

_If I lose him, I'm totally alone. Dad left, he's dead. And now Marlon. I can't be left alone here!_

"_Mar!" I rush for him, not caring. He's bleeding!_

_The whip strikes me along the arm._

"_Get out of the way." The peacekeeper says icily._

_I obey. I'm a coward, but I obey. Marlon passes out on lash number twenty-seven. Most people go by lash twenty._

"Yeah, man!" I wrestle Hiram and the two of us internally whoop and holler all the way home.

"Have fun reaping us," I warn the peacekeepers from a distance.

"Spiridon, you weren't doing anything stupid, were you?" Marlon's voice cuts through our celebration. I wish again for the days I cared about him and he cared about me. Back when we needed each other.

"Stupid and impulsive, as usual." I answer with a snort. Tomorrow's Reaping Day, and I have the strangest feeling the odds are not in my favor.

I wouldn't be surprised if the Peacekeepers managed to sneak my name in there a few extra times. It's their punishment for youth rebellion. Instead of whipping us, we get ten new entries every time we pull a stunt like Hiram and I just did.

"Come on, Mar, have a sense of humor!"

"Dammit, Spiro!" He stands up and storms the other direction. I sigh. I wonder if he's disappointed in me beneath his prickly exterior. What if I let him down, not the other way around? I wonder if that's why he stopped caring about me.

"Good monster," I ruffle Hiram's hair. My twelve-year-old Mischeif-Making apprentice grins broadly.

"Our life is not the Factory," He tells me, a recited line amongst the Rebel Boys.

"Oh, shoot! Peacekeepers! Hide these!" I shove six or seven more smoke bombs into Hiram's arms and direct him towards my home's hidden attic.

"Spiridon Meralda?" They ask me.

"Yes?" I say, coolly examining the uneasy man from District Two who now speaks to me.

"We would like to talk to you regarding... _choices_ you've been making." Another one, more composed, tells me icily.

"Fine. Talk to me." I stand my ground.

"Spiridon, if you could come with us...?" The newest peacekeeper speaks again. They lead me behind my house and I keep my fingers crossed Hiram has enough sense to keep himself quieter than the rats that have taken up residence with Marlon and myself.

"You've been on many different assignments as punishments for your... actions." I remember: hunting duty, after-hours factory cleanup, and others of the same sort.

"Uh-huh." I nod.

"We've warned you that we would not hesitate to contact Capitol authority if your behavior kept up."

"Yes," I agree.

"We have contacted authority from the Capitol and even asked the President his opinion on the matter. You remember?"

"Correct," I nod solemnly.

"Then what the hell," the Peacekeeper asks, "was _that?" _He points furiously in the direction of the Peacekeeper Bunker. I shrug.

"Do you know how many Infraction Entries you have, how high a chance you have of being reaped?" He asks me. I shake my head, no. "Well, I guess I'll let you know. Your name is in that bowl one-hundred and ninety-one times, Spiridon."

"That doesn't mean I'll get picked." I shrug, but nervousness wells up in my chest.

"Your brother's name has been entered for your Infractions, as well." I suck in air as best I can, but my lungs don't want to work right now.  
"You what?" My fists ball up, and my fingernails bruise the insides of my palms.

"Three times for every Infraction Entry of yours." Each Infraction Entry is worth ten.

"Feel free to leave now," The nervous peacekeeper, not nearly as nervous as unsure of himself, waves me away. I slam the door of my house, frustrated with myself and not knowing what to tell Marlon. What if he gets reaped?

"All's clear," Hiram informs me, brown hair covered in dust.

"Where were you hiding?" I ask him, surprised but fond all the same.

"I found a little passage in your attic. Something we should check out." If it hasn't been discovered yet, I realize, it was probably used in the District Wars at some point.

I don't sleep well that night. I have nightmares of Reaping. Not nightmares of myself getting reaped, but of Marlon. And the blame I feel for his reaping is unbearable. He's shocked, he wants to refuse. He blames me.

I could step up for him, but my feet won't move in my dream. I try to call out to him, but my voice won't work right.

I wake up earlier than I should.

"Can't sleep?" Marlon's voice inquires across the room.

"You're awake?" I rub the tired out of my eyes.

"Obviously." Marlon sits on the end of my bed. "What's up?"

"The officials yesterday, those peacekeepers, said they entered my name for Infraction Entries." Marlon's face falls. It feels good to be getting it off my chest. "And they entered your name three times for every ten I was entered."

"Stupid!" Marlon's face gets red and he throws an object my brain is too tired to recognize across the room. "Moron!"  
"I'm sorry, okay?"

Marlon won't speak to me. I wake myself completely and dress in a too-big, white, button-down shirt. I can't tie the tie, so I make do with a messy knot in it. Marlon smirks and doesn't comment.

"Time for reaping." He says, after I spend hours pacing. We wander together down to the roped off areas. I find the other 16's, the boys. Marlon doesn't so much as look at me as he walks off to the 18's section. It feels like a stone sinks somewhere in my heart.

As per usual, our governor Sesbee gives a speech about the Hunger Games. I have heard it every year since I was born. It's not new. Then, the eccentric woman who greets us every year, Evette Losser, gives her usual speech, and calls the name of some poor Archana girl. I know her from school. She's very smart, and she's only 14. Her friends and family call her Archie. She has very big eyes.

And then I hold my breath. _Not Marlon! Not me! Not Marlon! Not me!_ I will the glass orb, shutting my eyes hard.

"Hiram Evensong."

"No!" My eyes fly open. Hiram is only twelve! It has to be a mistake! Not Hiram!

I see his messy, mousy head pushing through the crowd of other twelve-year-olds, most taller than him.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Evette asks.

"I'll do it." I say quietly. "I'll volunteer for Hiram!" Louder, this time. Hiram looks just as surprised as I feel, but I know if anybody from our District has a chance of winning, it's me. Hiram's only twelve, and I won't let the sick Capitol take away another year.

"Great!" Evette smiles, electric pink lips parting in a cruel cringe.

"No, Spiro." Hiram whispers to me.

"Hiram," I look him in the nervous eye, "if anybody can come back, it's me. Don't doubt that. In the meantime, don't let any of the Boys forget what I've taught them. Got it?" Hiram nods, his brown eyes filling with tears. "Good."

I look across at Archie. She looks at me like I'm insane, and for some reason, I don't doubt it.

_I hope you're happy, Marlon_, I think cruelly at my brother. His eyes stare up at me from the crowd, a blank mask over any emotion he might feel. I wonder if he's sad or relieved. _You got what you probably wanted._

A few kids hold out three fingers to me. The customary respect ripples like a wave through the crowd. Parents, grandparents, and kids alike give me this respect.

Marlon just stares. I kiss my three fingers and hold them out to him, then to the rest of the crowd.


	3. Alette's POV part 1

_Alette POV: Reaping Day_

"_Alette….." Keegan breathes, barely getting the word out. He is bleeding freely from the wound inflicted by District 2's knife. He's so pale, and he's losing blood so quickly. He's…dying. I scream his name and fall to my knees, but there's nothing I can do to help him. Tears are falling from his eyes, and I realize that I'm crying as well. I reach out my hand to touch him, but I can't reach him. I'm in hysterics. I can see the light starting to leave his eyes, his very life leaching into the ground, staining it deep scarlet. Keegan fumbles for something around his neck, his locket, with numb fingers. My locket. My last gift to him. With shaking hands, he clicks it open, and smiles at the image inside, a photograph of the two of us together, smiling and happy, in a close embrace. "…I love you…" he says, the words barely audible, his speech muddled. "I love you too, Keegan." I whimper, but he can't hear me. He's gone. His cannon fires, but it sounds wrong; it sounds…._

My eyes flicker open. I'm lying in my bed in District 3, my alarm clock blaring loudly in my ear. I hit it, annoyed but grateful, glad, in a way, that it woke me up, but still drowsy. It continues to screech at me. I hit it again, harder this time, and it falls off my bedside table, disconnecting from the wall, and is silent. I sigh and close my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep, when I realize why I had set my alarm in the first place. My eyes fly open again, and I groan loudly. Reaping day. The worst day of the year, no matter what District you're in. I've been lucky so far, gotten through six years of reapings without getting chosen, but there's always the chance. I'm worried about the twins, too. Ember and Rory have just turned twelve, and, with my luck, they will both get chosen. I shake my head. They won't get chosen. I'm sure of it. They're each only in there once, and there are hundreds of other names in those balls. Anyways, there's no way in hell that I'm going to let either of them go into the arena. At least I can do something for Ember if she gets chosen. I'll volunteer in her place. I won't let her die in that hellhole they call the arena. At least I have a few years left, before I have to start worrying about Flin being chosen. He won't be twelve for another seven years, and anyways, he's clever and big for his age. If he does get chosen, he will probably be fine. Probably. Nothing is certain in the arena. I'm so caught up in my own thoughts that I don't remember getting up, but I'm out of bed and on my feet. I look around my room. It's bare, except for my small, plain bed, little, wooden bedside table, and dresser. I only have two pictures, both in simple frames on the dresser. One of them is a photo of my entire family, taken almost seven years ago, right after Flin was born. We all look so happy. Not that we're unhappy now, but since my mom died of cancer, things just haven't been exactly the same. The other is a picture of me and Keegan, taken a year and a half ago. He has his arms wrapped around my shoulders, and he's kissing me firmly on the cheek. I have one hand pressed against his cheek, and I'm laughing. Six months later, he left for the Capitol, and the Arena. I never saw him again, at least alive, except for on the television. I saw his body though, before they buried him. That was when I took the locket. He wanted me to have it. He gave it to me. I had to force him to take it into the arena with him as his token. I kiss my fingers and touch the photograph.

"Wish me luck Keegan."

I turn, and see my clean, white dress laying out on the floor next to the wall. I strip out of my pajamas and pull it on. It's soft and form-fitting, but flows around my legs and the hem hits mid-calf. It glows in the sunlight filtering in through the window. I slide on my flat, white and gold sandals and lace them up to my thighs. At the very last second, I grab Keegan's locket off my dresser fasten it around my neck. It's large-ish and gold, with an ornate engraving of a rose on the front. Then I leave my room and walk across the hall and into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I comb out my long, curly amber hair, and part it neatly on the side. I'm not exactly ecstatic about the reaping, but if I'm chosen, my looks will be my most valuable asset. My mom used to call me her little angel, and say to me "some day, Alette, you'll grow wings and fly away from this sh**hole." So, not exactly eloquent, but that was my mom.

"C'mon Al, if you don't hurry we'll miss the reaping!"

Rory, at least, is excited. I don't understand how he can possibly be excited about a reaping, but, then again, he is young, naive, and impulsive.

"Shut up Rory," comes the softer, mellower voice of Ember. I smile, my foot already on the top stair. Ember is so much like me. Not only in appearance, although we share the same face and bright red hair. She acts like me in every way. We have the same voice, the same demeanor, the same skills, the same tastes, and, as much as I hate to admit it, the same foul mouth. I don't know where Ember learned half of the swear words she uses, but I make a mental note to keep a close eye on the kids she hangs out with. I hurry down the stairs, and find Ember smiling at me from our fraying, ripped couch, her skinny legs tucked neatly underneath her. She is wearing a horribly girly, pale pink, frilly, gauzy dress that clashes horribly with her hair.

"We'd better hurry up," she laughs, "or Rory might just explode."

I laugh, and she reaches up to me, smiling widely. I pick her up easily; she's so small, even compared to me. I carry her, her legs draped over my arm, over to her chair and place her carefully in it. She reaches down and arranges her legs neatly on the footrest, and then wheels herself over to the door. I can't help but feel sorry for her, even though I should be used to it, even though she's been in that chair for six years now. She used to love to dance, and not just the way that all little girls do. When she danced, people wept, and everyone near her stopped to watch. But one day, when she was six years old, she wandered off, like she always did, and nobody worried about her. Until the doctor knocked on our door and told us that there had been an "accident" and that Ember was in the hospital. They weren't able to fix her spine, and she hasn't been able to use her legs since that day. To this day, nobody knows exactly what happened. All anybody knows is that a peacekeeper brought her into the hospital, covered in blood, and that the peacekeepers act very suspicious any time somebody brings up Ember's accident to them. I open the door for her and she wheels herself outside.

"Hey Rory," she shouts "race you to the square!" Then she's gone, rolling impossibly fast towards the square, where the reaping will be held.

"Hey!" Shouts Rory, sprinting out of the door after her. His hair is as red as hers, and his face is covered in freckles "No fair!"

I laugh out loud, pleasantly surprised by their giddiness. I follow them, more slowly, to the square and find a spot among the other sixteen-year-olds. They part around me, whispering among themselves. I know what they're saying, even if I can't actually hear it. Last year, my boyfriend was reaped, and I was inconsolable, more than the usual, for months on end. Then I went a little insane, lashing out, yelling, and occasionally getting violent.

"Alette! Over here!" I turn, searching for the voice, and see Freya. Her pale skin and white hair glow in the bright sun, and her pale blue eyes are fixed on me, shining brightly as she smiles from ear to ear. Freya Ethan was the only person who didn't push me away when Keegan died. She is my best and only friend. She was the only one who stayed by my side, and helped me through my grief. I walk over to her, giving her a quavering, nervous smile.

"Hey" I say, trying to sound happy, but my voice comes out as a murmur. It's hard to be happy today. Freya just hugs me.

"Come on Alette," she laughs "You'll be fine! What are the chances of you getting chosen, really?" Despite Freya's optimism, I can't help but feel as if my chances of being this years District 3 girl tribute are fairly high. Not because I have foul luck, which I do, but because, last year, I stormed straight up to our head Peacekeeper and demanded that he put my name in twice as many times as it was at the time. I'm fairly certain he did. But I couldn't take my stupid decision back, no matter how much I regret it now. I swallow hard and look up at the stage. Our District's mayor is sitting in a seat up there, along with five previous victors from our District. I make eye contact with Ryver Mitrias, one of the oldest victors, and Keegan's mother, and she smiles sadly at me. Everyone knows that her other son, Hesperos, Keegan's younger brother, is going to be reaped today. Hesp is my age, a tall, awkward boy with messy brown hair and a slightly goofy sideways smile. I see Tolein Gobred, a round-faced older man with a sideways slant to his spine and a wide, bright smile, who we all know far too well, approach the glass spheres containing hundreds, maybe thousands of slips of paper, each slip with the name of one boy or girl, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, written on it. He welcomes us with the customary speech. I'm not paying any attention. I'm staring at the girls' sphere, trying to see how many I have in there, relative to the total. Freya is gripping my hand so hard that I can't feel my fingers. Her face is pale, even more so than usual. I squeeze her hand and smile comfortingly at her. She looks at me and attempts a smile back, but it looks more like a grimace to me. Tolein finishes his speech and directs his attention to the girls' sphere. He spins it once, reaches in, fishes around for a few moments, and pulls out one small piece of paper, holding it close to his eyes with wrinkled hands.

"Alette Greyson!" He shouts. I nod calmly. I was at least prepared for this. Freya's hand lets go of mine. She seems to be unable to breathe. Rory shouts my name, and Ember... Ember is just shouting "No" over and over. I try to ignore them. I focus my mind. I have to be calm. I take graceful, steady strides toward the stage, ducking smoothly under the ribbon around the enclosure. I am very aware of my breathing, and concentrate on keeping it steady as well. I climb nimbly on to the stage, nod at Tolein, and take my place. I look at the crowd, keeping my gaze calm and detached. I can't focus on them, I might lose my composure, and then all would be lost. But I notice Freya, still trying desperately to breathe, and Rory and Ember, trying to force their way through the crowd of twelve-year-old's. Now Tolein is pulling out the boy tribute's name, and I already know who it is.

"Hesperos Mitrias!" Tolein yells. No surprise there. Hesp is ready. He walks over to the stage, looking as awkward and gangly as usual, and practically stumbles up the steps to stand beside me. He looks at me, and this time, he doesn't even attempt to smile. His normally cheerful face is stony and dead looking. His blue eyes, so unlike Keegan's, so like my own, lack their usual sparkle. I can't help but feel sorry for Ryver. It is almost certain that Hesp will die. He's so awkward, so clumsy, and, although he is attractive in his own way, he isn't likely to get many sponsors. I look deep into his eyes and take his hand, trying to communicate to him that I will do all I can to make sure that he survives for as long as possible. He nods almost imperceptibly at me and turns back to the audience. A few more seconds of this, and then the crowd is dismissed. Rory and Ember break through the throng, and Rory leaps up onto the stage and hugs me. Ember just sits there, sobbing. I jump down and hug her.

"I love you," I whisper, "I love you so much." Then I'm being dragged away by Peacekeepers, and I know I will only see my brother and sister one last time after this.


	4. Spiro's POV part 2

Spiro POV

"Spiridon," Marlon looks me in the eye. I feel so out-of-place in this posh, crystalline room. It makes me want to break something in it, just so I fit in a little better with this perfection, "You did a good thing."

"A good thing?" So he did want me chosen.

"If anybody can come back, Spiro, it's you. If anybody can keep Archie safe, it's you, too."

"Only one of us can come back, stupid. Or haven't you forgotten the rules?" I refuse to look him in the eye. "I hope it's what you wanted."

"I never wanted anything to happen to you," Marlon snarls. "If anybody can come back, it's you. Just... don't lose yourself out there. The Arena can do bad things to people. Don't let it do bad things to you."

"I'm never going to be able to kill anybody, then." I tell him bluntly. "Which, I guess, makes me a pretty lousy volunteer."

"I guess it does," Marlon smirks. "But if you're going to have a hard time doing it, remember how hard it would've been for Hiram."

"I guess," I shrug.

"I'm going to miss you, little bro." Marlon doesn't hug me, but shakes my hand and leaves me feeling more miserable than I've been in a long time.

"I'll miss you, too." I whisper. I don't even cry.

"Spiro!" Hiram and the Boys enter the room, and then I cry. "Spiro!" We say our goodbyes. Nobody gives me a token. This is because nobody has possessions to give up.

"Spiridon," Marlon comes back. "Hey! Out!" He drives my Boys away and I wipe my eyes.

"What? I thought you left."

"You need a token, bro." Marlon hands me something I recognize, something from my childhood. Something I haven't seen in years.

"Mom's necklace?" I close my fist around it. "No, Marlon. Just no."

"Yes!" Marlon pushes my hand towards me. "You've got to take something. Please."

"No way, Mar."

"Spiro, you need something. Something to remind you," His voice cracks. He shakes his head.

"If I die, I don't want the Capitol to take it." When the Meralda family was removed from District Two, each of the seven Meralda kids got a gemstone necklace, passed down through the ages. Mom's, given to her by Dad on their wedding day, is a navy-colored sapphire. "It's valuable. It's not below them."

"They won't take it, because you'll be coming back." The unspoken pact will be broken. I'll let Archie come back, or something. I don't want to live if it means others will die. Plus, there'll be enough who want my blood.

"Sure. Thanks, Mar." He leaves with more finality this time, and I slip the necklace into my breast pocket.

I meet Archie in the hallway, and the two of us are led by Evette to an automobile. Archie and I don't speak.

I notice a ladybug hair-clip that wasn't there when she was Reaped. Her token. I wonder if it's from her boyfriend, Citra. I'm sure it is. When they were kids together, they used to go hunting for Ladybugs.

No wonder Citra looked so upset upon coming into the room with the Boys. His girlfriend, the girl he hunted ladybugs with, is going to die. We all know it. A Career will win, like usual. I wished Marlon hadn't given me the necklace. It was going to be gone from our family forever.

I took it out of my pocket and let it swing like a beautiful jeweled pendulum before my eyes.

"Your token?" Archie asks curiously. I nod.

"It was my dad's, which he gave to my mom. They're both dead now."

"I'm sorry," Archie looks down. Her dad is one of the supervisors of the Factory. Her mom doesn't work because of an injury. She doesn't have to worry about either of her parents, so long as they aren't rebels.

Evette doesn't speak, solemn and reserved now in person. I'm sure she doesn't want to get too attached. The deal was sealed as soon as the Capitol made a few adjustments for the Career districts. The Careers always win.

Then there's the long train-ride to the capitol. District Nine has never had a winner, so Archie and I are on our own without a mentor.

The journey passes so quickly. I'm not eager to meet my other competitors. I watch on a small TV the Reapings from the other districts.

Another Meralda, from District 11? Tala Meralda, shocked, walks up to the stage.

"Not Tarlie! No!" Her mother wails from the crowd.

"I can take care of myself." Tarlie speaks strongly, shaking off her mother. Could she be my cousin?

She must be. I see the pale pink gem, cut the same way my blue sapphire is, on the same gold chain as my blue sapphire, hanging around her neck.

I don't pay any attention to the boy that's reaped, but my eyes flash up to the screen every time they play a shot of Tarlie. Having never met any of my cousins, I've always wondered.

The story of the gemstones is a long one, and an important one in our family.

District Two is responsible for mining gemstones for the Capitol and, unofficially, for providing Peacekeepers to the Districts. My grandfather, Flynney Meralda, was a very poor miner in District 2. He had six kids to take care of: two sons and four daughters.

They discovered cancer in his lungs. He knew he would die sooner or later, so during his mining job, he would occasionally snatch a gemstone or two and make a necklace for his kids. He wanted to reach all the colors of the rainbow in gems for his kids, but when the capitol found out, they weren't too fond of this idea.

District Two is a career district. Had Grandpa Flynney never been discovered, I would probably have had all the training in the world and not a worry in my head. So would Tarlie.

However, the Capitol did find out. They made a deal with Flynney because he was well-respected, though poor and ill. Each of his children could keep one necklace as an heirloom. When they turned eighteen, each would have to be shipped to a different district and work there. Looking back, it wasn't exactly satisfactory, but that's what the Capitol wanted. Flynney's wife was dead. Flynney would die alone.

I know Dad got shipped to lovely District Nine, where he met and fell in love with the beautiful and talented Coletta. On their wedding day, he gave her the sapphire necklace now neatly tucked under my shirt.

Obviously, my Uncle Marlon, whom Marlon was named after, was Tarlie's father and was shipped to Eleven. My father talked on and on about being the youngest of six. Cupria, his eldest sister, always brought home sweets for him. Marlon, the second oldest of the bunch, would break up fights between my father and Keeley and Miri, identical twins only two years older than Father. Charleigh, the sister in between Marlon and the Twins, was very quiet and liked to read. Apparently, she died en route to District 5.

I got up and moved around our train car; anxious now, thinking of my family. I had to write down my thoughts.

I managed to find a stash of paper and a cup full of pens in another car.

"What are you looking for?" Evette asked.

"Something to write with." I admit. She looks me up and down.

"Right there. Take it." I take pages of paper and three pens and find the car with Archie in it.

"What are you doing?" She asks, nosy as I've ever known her to be.

"Nothing that concerns you." I snarl back. She looks hurt and turns with a sniff towards the window.

_Diamond Miner's Daughter_, I scrawl across the top of the sheet.

_She was a diamond miner's daughter_

_Eight years older than my father_

_She held Father's hand when he was crying_

_And left her dad before his dying_

_She was a diamond miner's daughter_

_And she just wanted to stay_

_She begged and pleaded for her books_

_But they took them all away_

_She was a diamond miner's daughter_

_She wore a pink ruby around her neck_

_They took that like they took her life_

_On her way to District Six_

_She was a diamond miner's daughter_

_My sweetest Aunt Charleigh_

_She was eighteen years old when death struck her_

_So a daughter she'll always be_

_To her diamond miner father_

I fold up the page and place it in my pocket. If I win, I suppose writing will be my Talent. It's the only thing I'm good at. I'm good with words. I never knew her, but from the way Father spoke of her, she reminds me a little of my mom. Calm and docile with the voice of a mouse, content with little things, born with a huge imagination. When my father was scared, she used to make up fairytales to tell him just to cheer him up. My father retold a couple of these stories to me at times. My favorite was about a boy named Hunter and a girl named Dancer.

The story goes that Hunter and Dancer always used to fight. Hunter had a fire spirit, always spoiling for the next brawl with neighbors. _Dancer was calm and never stood up for herself, which infuriated Hunter. One day, Hunter started fighting with Dancer after a bad brawl with a boy down the street. He told her that her talent of dancing and singing was useless. She told him this was not so. He continued to insist that her talents were useless and that fighting was the only way to get what you wanted in life. Finally pestered beyond her wits, Dancer put down her book and told Hunter, "let me show you a few things." Hunter rolled his eyes but followed anyways. They went out into the forest and Hunter told Dancer, "Now use your skills to catch me something to eat." Dancer replied, "I will." She sang a short tune. All the Mockingjays in the wood sang it back to her. Hunter was impressed, but still unsure. "That's not going to help us do anything," He snorted with a scowl. "Oh, isn't it?" Dancer whistled again and again the Mockingjays replied. She crept on her silent dancer's feet towards the Mockingjay's voice. Whistling her tune again, she crept closer and closer to the bird's nest._

_Suddenly, with a flash of wings, the Mockingjay took off to the sky. But, being a dancer, Dancer did an amazing leap and almost flew with the Mockingjay. She grabbed it by the foot and pulled it down with her and displayed it to a very impressed Hunter. "Wow," Hunter admitted, "that was cool. But how would your talents help you in a fight?" "I'll show you," Dancer replied, letting the Mockingjay go and fly away. Hunter lunged at her with swinging fists and Dancer moved quickly out of his way. She managed to dance just out of his reach until he was too tired out to move. Then, she pushed him to the ground and stood over him. "Maybe," Hunter realized suddenly, "you could teach me to do that!" "See?" Dancer replied. "Your talents of hunting and fighting are just as useful as my talents of singing and dancing." "I guess you're right," Hunter complied. The two then became very close friends, and Dancer taught Hunter her skills. Hunter, in return, taught Dancer how to really defend herself, and how to hunt. _

To think that such a beautiful story came instantly out of my aunt Charleigh's mind makes it all the more depressing that she had to die so early. I wonder if she had a way with words like I do. Maybe I get it from her.

"You're humming to yourself." Archie interrupts my train of thought. "Thinking about the games?"

"No..." I glance back up at the TV screen. A girl of about my age has just been reaped. She is an eerie-looking little thing, with long black hair and spooky eyes. They are reaping the boy.

"Gavon Rowes." He smiles, his grin wolflike. I'm not sure I like the two who've been picked from District Seven: a monster and a phantom. I shiver at the thought of going up against the too-excited Gavon.

He pushes through the boys gruffly, but most of them shy away from his massive, well-muscled form. He stares hungrily at the reaped girl, but she stares back with those frightening blue eyes. Not afraid. Not feeling anything at all, by the looks of it. Gavon's incredibly dark eyes move up and down her body and she turns away from him with no comment, not another look.

Spooky.

"That Gavon guy looks mean." Archie comments bluntly, voicing my thoughts.

"No kidding, he does." I shake my head to try and shake off the image of his cold smile. The screen flashes: District 3. Not career, but might as well be.

The camera zooms in on a few faces: a boy with a gangly frame paired with a handsome, boyish face. Something flashes into my mind, a boy from last year. Stabbed right in the neck.

He must be the brother. Or the judging of this district has been rigged so he's picked. Knowing the Capitol, it's not unlikely both. They love their drama! Their sick drama...

I close my mind to the memory starting to overwhealm me. Back when I was really, really young. About three years old.

_Demeter Silas was the most beautiful girl in my closed-off world. She would pick me up and balance me on her hip and make me laugh. My memories of her were vague, but I remember she had very, very curly copper locks and sparkling pale gray eyes. Marlon and I were both head-over-heels in love with her, and Yousef used to try to flirt with her, age seven. Before he caught that illness..._

_She used to fawn over Adair, before she got sick and died, too. Baby sis, I used to call Adair. And Addie. _

_Demeter Silas used to watch us in the days my mother and father both worked. Yousef would show her his collections of fun-shaped and exciting-colored rocks. She'd feed Baby Sis Adair from a bottle and put her down for a nap, then she and Yousef would tackle me and Marlon and tickle me until I peed my pants from laughing._

_I think I was probably about three years old, maybe two. _

_The beautiful fifteen-year-old was visciously ripped away from me through something I didn't quite understand: The Hunger Games. I remember hugging her goodbye, and her having tears on her cheeks. My little voice asking, "What's wrong, Demi? What's wrong?" And her voice, so strong to me then, broke, and she just held me close. _

"_Goodbye, Spiro." She sobbed into my hair. I was so confused at her tears. Yousef seemed to understand better than I did, but I didn't want to ask. He wiped tears out of his own eyes. "Grow up and be strong. Make me proud, okay, Spiro? You, Yousef, Marlon, and Adair make me proud."_

"_Proud?" I didn't know that word. I stored it in the back of my mind to use later. _

"_Yes, Spiro." She sobbed into my hair. "You make me very proud."_

_Mum and Pa hugged her goodbye. Mum cried harder than I thought her small body could stand without combusting. _

_The day I realized the people I thought were infallible, were, in fact, not so strong after all. _

_And then, I saw her on the TV. I was so excited. My Demi was a star!_

_Then, that knife blade ripped through her stomach and she bled. I sobbed for her, too young to grasp death in all its meaning. All I knew is that she was in pain._

"_Save Demi! Save her! Yous, you can save her! Please!" I grabbed my oldest brother's legs. _

"_My godfamily:" she spoke, her last words, "Coletta, Balter, Yousef, Marlon, Sp-Spiro... Adair..." her eyes bored into the camera, filling with tears. "Thank you. I love you all so much."_

_All I knew is that my family, save for newborn Adair, was very sad. Then Yousef got sick, and then he got Addie sick, and then both of them were put in the ground the same day that they put Demeter Silas into the ground. _

I don't realize I have tears in my eyes until Archie brings it up.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." I'm off to the same doom as my Demi. "Just remembering."

"Me, too." Archie sniffs. She's crying? "You know how my mom was only fifteen when she had me, right?"

"Yeah." I admit to knowing about her.

"My dad died when I was two years old. He was barely eighteen and he got shipped off to the games. They're the reason I didn't have a dad."

"Oh, god." I say. "I'm sorry."

The girl marches bravely, so composed, up to the stage. The light hits her and she literally glows. She's beautiful, but my mind shoots to the fact that I am going to have to kill her, or let her die. There'll be no way to protect her once we're trapped in that arena, though all my instincts are telling me to. She's luminous and captivating, her dress swishing behind her knees. People cry out for her. A girl who is shiningly white in every aspect and two younger kids, both appearing to only be twelve, rush up to the stage and hold her tight.

Nobody rushes up to hold the boy tight, I notice. He's tall, gangly, and looks like a kid still. _Hesperos Mitrias_, reads the label. _Mitrias_. I was right: he's the brother of a boy who died last year, Keegan Mitrias. I guess nobody wants to get too attached, after his brother's brutal death last year.

But, God, he looks like a kid, still! It's sick, I realize with a thrashing certainty that makes my skin itch. And his poor family! His parents lost their son last year, and they're losing a son again this year!

I think of all the people who've been hurt because of the Games. People I know, or sort of know. _Demeter Silas, Marlon Meralda, Tala Meralda and her family, Hiram Evensong, Citra Cominny, Archana Misik,_ the list goes on and on, as the community in District 9 is so close-knit. _And_, I think sadly, _obviously Alette has lots of experience with this kind of hurt._

Her sister weeps for her, sitting in a wheelchair.

"I love you," Alette tells her baby sister, then the screen switches to the reaping in another district. More families and friends being torn apart by the relentless Capitol.


	5. Alette's POV part 2

_Alette's POV. Goodbyes._

I sit regally on the plush silk couch, looking around the room. For some reason, I feel like I almost belong here, in the strangest way. The door opens, and Freya comes in. I can tell she's been crying. I feel so sorry for her. I'm her only friend. She stares at me, mouth slightly open, before sitting on the couch across from me. She can barely get a word out.

"Alette...I...you...I can't...my best friend...it's...so unfai-Oh for God's sake!" She suddenly shouts, and jumps up and hugs me.

"Alette...I love you" she whispers, and, to my complete and utter astonishment, kisses me, full on the lips. I look at her, shocked, struggling for words, still trying to work out exactly what's going on. She sees my face and lets out a small squeak, then runs out of the room, her hands over her face.

"Wait! Freya!" I shout. I'm still in shock, but she's my only friend, and I don't want her to leave, not yet. But Freya is long gone. She was running so fast. I curse myself silently for my stupidity and slump back onto the couch. Moments later, the door opens again, and I jump up. Ryver Mitrias steps into the room, holding Flin's hand tightly in her own. She is closely followed by Rory, who is pushing Ember's chair in front of him. I'm glad of this, because Ember does not look like she would be able to move on her own right now. Her eyes are as red as her hair, and supremely bloodshot. Her dress is wrinkled and crumpled and wet, from what I can only assume was tiny hands wringing the soft fabric, and then wiping away tears with it. We all stop and stare at each other. I don't know how much time passes. It's absolutely silent. I feel as if I'm trying to memorize every aspect of my siblings.

"I can't tell you how much I hate this room." mutters Ryver, breaking the silence. She places herself on the couch, Flin balanced on her lap. Rory sits beside her, maneuvering Ember in her chair to face me as well. I really can't blame Ryver for her hatred of this room. She's been in here at least twice before, once when she was tribute, when she was sixteen, and again when her only daughter, Evylin, who was born when Ryver was seventeen, was reaped. She was only twelve years old. Keegan was a year younger than Evylin. Evylin, who was named after _my _mother. Even before we were born, Keegan and I were connected. Maybe Ryver was in here when Keegan was reaped, too.

"Don't die." Ember whispers. I hadn't realized, but I had been lost in my thoughts. I pull her over to me and lift her onto my lap, burying my face in her shoulder.

"Ember, I promise you, I won't die." I laugh, "Hell, don't worry about _me_, worry about the poor bastards who have to fight me."

Ember giggles softly, and I smile. I hate to see her sad. Suddenly, I'm covered in my family. Rory is hugging me, telling me to be careful. Flin is hugging my arm and slapping my leg, not fully aware of what's going on, but he knows that something is going on, and something isn't quite right.

"Alright guys," Ryver laughs, "Give your big sister some space." She pulls them off of me and hugs me herself. She pulls away and looks me in the eyes. I notice the color of her eyes, they're dark green, just like Keegan's.

"Do you have a token?" I show her my locket, and she nods. I notice that she's slightly teary.

"Be safe. Make it home. Goodbye." Ryver says, and takes my siblings out of the room, and I know that I really have seen them for the last time ever. To my complete surprise, the next time the door opens, it is not a Peacekeeper who enters. It's a tall, freckled, blonde girl from my year at school. I think her name's Pinne, or something like that.

"We made this for you...and, well, I wanted to give it to you myself, because...because I wasn't very nice to you." she mumbles, and hands me a folded up piece of paper. Before I can even respond, Pinne, or whatever her name is, has left the room. Confused and slightly honored, I unfold the paper. Every single girl or boy my age has signed it, most of them writing a small note apologizing for last year, or saying how much they care about me. One boy, Siym, has confessed that he'd always had a crush on me. He's not the only one. At least five other boys have said the same thing. Smiling, I fold it up again. It's very small, I notice, small enough, even, to fit inside my locket. I smile, and do just this, opening my locket and placing the paper neatly in the center, and clicking it closed again. Perfect. As I snap the locket shut, the door to the room opens for the fourth time, and this time it _is _a Peacekeeper. I don't recognize him, he must be straight from the Capitol. He nods at me.

"Time to go." My throat seems to have closed up. I can't say a word. All I can do is nod nervously back at him and walk out the door and to the train that will take me away from District 3, probably forever. I look out at my home, and I am still trying to find some way to say goodbye when the doors close, and we are heading toward the capitol.

I sit down on a plush seat across the car from Hesp. We are the only two people in our train car. It seems odd. We all see the glamorous arrival at the Capitol, morphing bizarrely into the bloody mess of the Games themselves, but we never see the in-between. We don't see the travel, we don't see the training, we don't see the tributes learning to act like they have lived in the Capitol all their lives. Hesp says my name, and I look up at him, surprised. He's slumped back in his seat, arms crossed, head arched back against the window, looking upside-down at the fast disappearing scenery. He lifts his head and looks at me.

"If you could have one thing, anything, but one thing only, in the arena, from your sponsors, what would it be?" It seems like such a ridiculous question that I laugh out loud, before I realize that Hesp is completely serious. I don't even have to think about it, I know what I'd want.

"Do you remember those hang gliders that we helped design last year?"

"Yes"

Of course he remembers. It was one of our last weeks with Keegan. We all helped design a new type of hang glider that, flicked a certain way, folded up into a single, lightweight pole, and, flipped again, unfolded into a large, fully functioning hang glider. I, as the smallest, had tested, and, by the time we finished, was an expert at using it. I could perform tricks with ease and dodge any obstacle with just the tiniest movements. I was like a bird.

"Well, I want one of those"

"Very practical, Alette."

"Well, what would you get?" I ask, stung. Hesp doesn't even hesitate.

"A water bottle and a resealable plastic bowl of soup...that refill themselves."

I can't help it, I start cracking up. Hesperos looks as hurt as I'm sure I looked a few moments ago.

"Hey," Hesp protests, "I said you could have _anything_, I was just wishing for whatever would be most useful to me!"

Suddenly, we're both laughing, and I almost forget where we're going, what is going to happen to the two of us in just a few days. For the moment, we are just Hesp and Alette, two kids from District 3, not special in any way, just having fun, enjoying the last bits of sunlight as it sinks below the horizon. Our happy moment is interrupted when Tolein enters our train car. There is a moment of complete silence as he looks at us, one eyebrow raised so high I'm afraid it might get lost in the sparse hair on the top of his head.

"We'll be there soon." he says frankly, and that's it. He leaves us alone, and our grins fall as we realize, again, that we are not normal; we are tributes.


	6. Spiro's POV part 3

_Spiro POV: The Arrival_

_Lavish_, is the first word that comes into my head to describe the capitol, followed very shortly by, _ridiculous and stupid_. I shrug. It fits.

"Lavish," I whisper to Archie, "ridiculous, and stupid." She smirks.

"Totally true." Archie responds. She tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear and inhales a deep, shuttering breath. She closes her eyes and I swear the name _Citra_ is on her lips as she breathes out. "Here we go, then." I reach over and grab her hand, holding it tight.

"Yeah," I agree, "here we go." She looks down at my hand in hers and sighs. I'm glad to know I can offer her some, however minuscule, amount of comfort in such a terrifying situation.

The day passes in a daze and when I wake up from my daze, I'm being made up and dressed up like a dolly by several buzzing females, chattering like mockingjays.

"Your eyes are such a beautiful color!" One of them gasps. I want to smack the awful accent out of her. "Where did you get them done?"

"I'm from the districts," I flinch away from her poking fingernails, "I didn't have them _done_."

"Oh my god, Edie!" Another of the ladies comments. "I think they're au naturale!"

"Yep," I say, wanting them to just shut up. "Au naturale." Piece by piece, bit by bit, my outfit comes together. I want to vomit looking at myself in the mirror, because I don't resemble the Spiro I know from the mirror by any stretch of the imagination. Cool as it is to have flecks of silver glinting in my hair, I want to rip out the silly extensions. I now wear silver eyeliner and have swirls of silver on my face. I wear a very old-fashioned, silver vest, a formal black button-down, and black pants, with silver shoes.

"How do I look?" Archie asks. She emerges from around the corner and the sight of her takes my breath away. She, too, has shimmering silver hair extensions, which curl like the rest of her hair. The silver eyeliner outlines her big green eyes and the swirls about her face makes her shimmer. Her dress is black with silver sashes and ribbons, and falls to just above her knee. She has shimmering silvery tights and polished silver heels, with silver-and-black gloves coming all the way up to her elbow. She looks nothing like a capitol girl, which is shocking to me considering the people put in charge of her makeup, and like a beautified Archana Misik.

"So," the lead beautifier smiles at us as if what she says matters, "the style we were going for was very old fashioned, American-Revival. The silver on your outfits represents the machinery of your district, since we didn't want to dress you two in hamburgers." She expects us to laugh, but neither of us even crack a smile. She chuckles to herself at her awkward joke.

"That would be," I sigh, longing for home, "embarrassing."

And then they want to parade us through a crowd of cheering fans. Archie pins back part of her hair in the ladybug pin, much to Edie's displeasure.

"Don't mess with your hair!" Edie frets over Archie.

"It's my token!" Archie protests, ducking away from Edie's claw-like fingernails. Edie clucks her tongue but resigns and clicks away in her lemon-colored heels. I take my blue diamond out of my pocket and clasp it around my neck, suddenly unafraid of looking girly. I want to mess with the makeup artists a little bit. It kills Edie a little bit inside when I put it on, but she sighs and comments,

"It's the same color as your eyes. Go ahead, wear it." Not how I'd expected it to go over. My smirk turns into a frown as I fail to get a reaction out of the Capitol's top stylist, Edie McLars.

"Ready for this?" I ask. Archie is visibly shaking. I put my hand on her shoulder, protective. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks: I'll die for Archana. I'm not afraid, I'll do it. Let some bastard stab me through the heart if it means this girl gets home safely.

Though, I counter to myself, letting that Monster from whatever district stab me through the chest doesn't exactly help Archie. But, I think, all I care about is that Archie gets home safely. That Citra gets to see his girl again.

It's not, I think, neccessarily that I'd die for Archie. Or not in a romantic way. But I'd be ready to die so the lives of my friends and family are just that little bit better. Archie could make them happier than I ever could, so I'm letting her go back.

The decision is solid in my heart.

The rest of the day passes in a blur: _cheering crowds... Archie blowing a kiss to a captivated young boy from our whirring chariot... a glossy high-rise soaring up into the blue sky... more cheers... a girl knocked down for trying to break through the barrier towards us... and the chariots coming to a halt._

Time freezes. Here it is: meeting the other Tributes. Why is it now that my memory chooses to seal in the events?

I examine some of the faces. One face, in particular, strikes me.

Dressed in all white, she glimmers in the sunlight. Her hair curls and falls softly over her shoulder and she has a pair of metal wings folded up against her back. I want to introduce myself to her, but am not sure how. I don't want to get too attached, as she'll probably have to kill me. Looking at how comfortable she seems (I wonder if it's a hoax), I make a bet to myself that she is a Career. I don't even recognize her.

I slip through the crowd. Archie sinks back into the shadows of the wall.

"Hi," I run my fingers through my hair nervously, "I'm Spiro."

"Spiridon." She comments absently. "Yes, I saw your reaping on the train." What to say?

"I saw yours, too." I mumble incoherently, shuffling my feet.

"I'm Alette," Alette! I remember. She looks different now than she did in the reaping. District Three's guardian angel, the voiceover had declared. During the reaping, she had been dressed differently, her hair more messy than now, with much less makeup. I decide I like her better natural.

Another pair of faces catches my eye as my gaze drifts over Alette's shoulder. Hiding amongst the curtains is the Ghost Girl, blue eyes blazing like fire. She locks eyes with me and doesn't look away. It sends a shiver down my spine.

Looming over her like some hulking demon is the boy from her district. I haven't forgotten his name: Gavon. Gavon Rowes doesn't speak to her, but looks up at me. I can feel his smirk all the way across the room. He obviously thinks he's going to win this. He _knows_ he's going to win this.

Ghost Girl and Gavon stare around the room, like staring is the only thing they know how to do. I force myself to look at their clothing: Ghost Girl wears a black dress of a somewhat papery, ribbonny material. It would look stunning on a girl like Archie or Alette, the way the folds drape and it hugs her waist, the neckline and the cut of the hem, but her body type is the emaciated kind. She is too bony, too scrawny, for her to look good in really anything, as if anything she puts on could crush her. Her hair is curled with the occasional small braid, but, being naturally stringy and lackluster, it doesn't look as pretty as it could on, again, a girl like Archana or Alette. I rack my brain for her name, but come up with nothing.

Ghost Girl it is, then!

Gavon's entire outfit is of the same black, papery material. His semi-long hair that would usually hang in his eyes is done in many small braids, pushed away from his face and making him look like a misunderstood artist. He looks so cocky and sure of himself, just like the Careers usually look. To anyone who had somehow missed the Reapings on television, it would come as a shock that Gavon wasn't from districts one, two, or four.

"Spiro?" Alette's voice makes me refocus my attention.

"Yes, sorry." I stumble over my words. She turns her head around.

"Oh, yeah," she notices the district seven tributes. "They're really strange, aren't they?"

I nod. "Remember what her name is?" I ask of Ghost Girl. Alette shakes her head.

"Not sure. I think it's something like Ville or... I don't know. I can't remember."

"I think she looks like a ghost." I admit. Alette nods.

"Me, too."

"Kind of creepy."

"Spiro! Spiro!" Archie smiles at me, breathless. "I've been looking for you!" She grabs my arm. She looks up at Alette and her smile turns to a focused frown.

"Hi, I'm Alette." Alette introduces herself awkwardly.

"Archie." Archie nods bluntly.

"We've just been talking." I say, trying to stir up the dead conversation.

There's a big dinner for the tributes, complete with a televised speech from President Whiting. I sit next to Archie and a girl from District 12. The governor's daughter, a girl who reminds me of sugar. Her name is Duska. She talks about her life just outside of the Seam, which is apparently the poorest part of poor district 12.

Her thick, smoky black makeup almost obscures the light, natural beauty that glistens on her face. Her hair is too-elaborate, with black ribbons snaked through the ridiculous up-do and a dress that moves and swirls like smoke. Too elaborate for simple, beautiful Duska.

She's older than me, I learn. I nod and listen as she speaks in her chime-like voice about her best friends Flurin and Oriole and Poppy. Flurin, she explains with a sad shake of her head, was the illegitimate son of a peacekeeper and a coal miner. She feels it's her duty to protect him and get home safe to him.

She talks about her oh-so-cute boyfriend Stil. She wishes she could have given a little bit more of herself, something more to remember, to her three-year-old brother Elian. My mind jumps to what Demeter must have thought of my family when she was reaped: Yousef was only eight. If he were alive, he would have had loads of good memories about her. As it is, Marlon never likes to talk about her and I can't quite picture her face anymore.

She wants to go home, so Elian can still have an older sister. So Flurin can have a defender. So Stil can have a girlfriend and a future wife, and so Oriole and Poppy can keep what they call the Duskoppiole Sisterhood alive.

I cough a little. She blushes.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs, glancing swiftly down at her plate.

"No, don't-" I don't know what to tell her. Don't kill me? Don't worry about it? Don't apologize because this is how it is and I'm sorry it couldn't be different?

I notice Ghost Girl staring with those blazing eyes from across the table. I shiver. She hasn't touched her food. This surprises me, given she looks like she hasn't eaten in months.

I overhear a Career conversation across the table.

"Yeah!" The girl from two smiles. "They told me the theme this year is Fire and Ice! It should be interesting! I can't wait to see how they pull it off!"

"Shh!" The girl from 1 scolds. "We're not supposed to know that!"

"Oh, cool it, Lib." The boy from 1 rolls his eyes at her. She runs her finger along his cheek.

I look down at my plate, embarrassed that I'm the only one finished with my food. _Fire and Ice_, I think, looking around the table. I lock my blue eyes with those inky blacks of Gavon and narrow them. _You can be fire_, I think to myself, _I'll be ice_.

I spy Alette talking animatedly to the boy from her district. I look at him. I remember him: the tragic last son of a victor who lost her older kids to these games. Or so claims the narrator from the Reapings on the television. I remember Evylin, and then Keegan. His name is Hesperos Mitrias.

He has messy, dark hair. He looks a little like his big brother, but I think he more resembles his sister who died. Evylin was twelve when she was reaped.

His ears are definitely his most prominent feature. They stick out from the sides of his head like a monkeys' ears.

"He's cute," Archie points at him. I make a face.

"He has monkey ears." I comment meanly. "I'm cute, too. Right?"

Archie smiles. "Of course," she looks at him and sighs, "but he's cuter."

"Monkey ears." I comment. Archie kicks me under the table. "Ouch!"

"Be nice." She warns me.

"If you ever want to go home again, Archie," I say seriously, "he's going to have to die."

"If I ever want to go home again," she looks down at her plate, "so will you..."

"I know." I say simply. "And I've come to terms with that."

"What?" She looks at me, utterly shocked.

"Nothing." I look away.

"No, Spiro," she slams her palm down on the table, suddenly angry with me, "what did you say?"

"Listen to me, Archie," I lower my voice so Duska doesn't hear, "if it means somebody I care about has to hurt, or die, then I don't want to live."

"I don't understand you." Archie fumes.

"I care about you. Not the way Citra does, but I care about you." Her face falls when I mention Citra. "I don't want you to die, even if it means I get to live. I don't want Citra to have to go through watching you..." My voice fades away. "Not even if it means I get to live a victor."

"I just don't..." She shakes her head sadly.

"I made a promise to my brother before I left," I admit to her, "not to lose myself. This is who I am, and I'm not going to lose it." Archie falls silent.

"Sorry," She apologizes, "I just think you're being stupid."


End file.
